


How You Survived The War

by Dystopian_Dramaqueen, thismidnight



Series: When You Find Me [5]
Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV), The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
Genre: F/M, First interactions with Canadian and American governments post Gilead, Major life threatening injury to protagonist, Nick and June arrive in Canada, PTSD, Parallel with cannon through the end of S3, Rebellion, Revenge, mayday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-12 20:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21482452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dystopian_Dramaqueen/pseuds/Dystopian_Dramaqueen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thismidnight/pseuds/thismidnight
Summary: Nick and June escape to Canada.We learn about Nick’s time in the Gilead military.We finally see him through the eyes of others- as the hero he is.***CHAPTER 5 completes this story***Brief epilogue to follow soon. ❤️
Relationships: Nick Blaine/June Osborne | Offred
Series: When You Find Me [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1389148
Comments: 10
Kudos: 74





	1. Refugee

> _ you’re not gonna lose this one _
> 
> _ you don’t have to cut and run _
> 
> _ i think you can choose to love and what is more _
> 
> _ that is how you survived the war _

The refugee processing center is an old school building. Inside are red lockers, beige linoleum, and heavy wooden doors. The halls are empty. Quiet. _ Too quiet. _

It reminds June of the Red Center, and that thought sends chills down her spine. 

She grips Nick’s arm tighter as they make their way down the hallway, jumping when a door slams shut behind them. She half expects to hear the buzz of a cattle prod followed by Aunt Lydia’s voice reciting scripture. 

Nick senses her discomfort and slides his arm around her, pulling her against him. 

June relaxes slightly, melting into his side, exhaling deeply. _ This could never happen in Gilead. _Nick would never be caught dead touching her like this out in the open. 

They’re trailing behind a volunteer on their way to the school’s cafeteria. As they walk, the volunteer is cheerily explaining what their next steps will be, but June doesn’t hear anything. She doesn’t care about any of that. Right now she’s busy trying to convince herself that they’re actually in Canada and this isn’t all some elaborate trick that will end with her and Nick hanging side by side on the wall by evening.

Once they get to the cafeteria, she feels herself start to relax even more. The space is comfortable. _ Homey. Warm. Everything Gilead isn’t. _

On the far wall, Canadian and American flags hang side by side. Underneath the flags, a row of volunteers are stationed at buffet tables, serving comfort foods. Racks of clothes line one wall and a row of computer workstations line another. In the middle of the floor, there’s a mix of cafeteria tables and mismatched couches and loveseats. The room is filled about a third of the way with people eating, talking and sleeping. 

Their guide disappears and June feels Nick gently squeeze her hand before leading her to an unoccupied couch. He asks if she wants food and she shakes her head. She’s less worried now— at least about their immediate safety— but she’s still completely overwhelmed, her appetite non-existent. 

Right now, she just needs him close. They can eat later. She leans against his side, resting her head on his shoulder, letting her heavy eyelids finally close. They’d started their journey the night before, crossing the border on foot under the dim light of a predawn sky. The fatigue from their journey finally sets in and everything aches. 

She’s finally succumbing to her exhaustion when she feels Nick shift against her, his muscles tensing and immediately her eyes fly open, her heart dropping through the floor, adrenaline spiking. Her eyes search the space, landing on the threat.

Across the room three men stand huddled together. One is tall and slender, wearing slacks and a dress shirt, a file folder tucked under his arm. If he was by himself he wouldn’t be a cause for concern.

But his company is another story entirely.

The two remaining men are stocky with matching expressionless faces. They’re military. Maybe police. Wearing dark-colored tactical clothing with handguns on their hips and walkie talkies on their shoulders. A crackling, garbled message comes in over one of the walkies, the static reverberating off the walls of the large room and June feels the bile rise in her throat.

_ This isn’t Canada The Eyes found us. _

The three men scan the room, their eyes landing on Nick and June and suddenly the open cafeteria feels as small as a coffin, all the air rushing out of the room as they start to move towards them.

Nick tries to stand but June grips his arm tight, holding him in place, her nails digging crescent moons into the skin on his forearm. She remembers the last time they’d been approached by two men in uniform. She closes her eyes and she’s back at the summer house in Gilead, the gunshot ringing in her ears. Nick’s lifeless body dragged into the back of the car. Her eyes flutter back open. She’s not in the summer house, but she can feel the same chill in the air, deep in her bones. She doesn’t release Nick from her grasp_ . I should have held on like this before. _

_ I won’t make that mistake again. _

Nick angles himself towards June, his brow furrowed in concern. “Hey,” his voice is soft and calm. She can barely hear it over the rush of blood in her ears. “It’s okay.”

She wants to believe him. She almost does for a second. But then the three men stop in front of them, and the terror returns in full force.

“Mr. Blaine?” The man in the slacks speaks first, standing slightly in front of the gruff men in uniform. June doesn’t let go of Nick’s arm as he nods, squaring himself. He leans forward, positioning himself slightly in front of June.

“I’m Mark Tuello,” he begins, his voice warm, stance non-confrontational. “I work for the United States government.” June looks him up and down. She couldn’t let herself believe Nick, so how can she trust a stranger? A hunter lures prey into a trap with something it wants, and what he’s saying is exactly what she wants. To believe she’s safe— somewhere Gilead can never hurt her or the people she loves anymore. 

Tuello motions behind him, to the men in uniform, their attention focused on Nick. “These are Majors Sutton and Page, they work for US Army Intelligence. If you wouldn’t mind, they’d like to have a word with you privately.”

“No,” June blurts out before Nick has a chance to reply, and she feels four sets of eyes land on her. She shakes her head._ Nick can’t leave me. He promised he wouldn’t, and definitely not with these guys. _ She’s sure now it’s a trap. _They’ll take him away and I’ll never see him again. _

“Hey,” Nick says again, turning towards her, ignoring Tuello and the two Majors. His focus is entirely on calming her now, but it doesn’t work. Hot tears slide down her cheeks as she stares at her hands, still wrapped in a vise-like grip around his arm._ I can’t lose him again._

“June,” he says her name softly and she looks up at him, his dark eyes soft, filled with concern. His gaze flicks over to the men waiting for him, then back to June. “What if you come with me?” He asks the question looking at her but says the question loud enough for the others to hear. 

“Classified,” Major Sutton barks and June rolls her eyes as Nick’s jaw clenches. That wasn’t the answer either of them had hoped for. 

“Nick, last time you left me I didn’t see you for a year,” June says, her voice weak, trying to explain herself. She has to make him understand why he can’t go. “I almost lost you,” her voice cracks and tears slide down her cheeks again. 

Nick shakes his head, fighting a smirk. “That’s not true. Last time I left you I came back to a five-star restaurant and the best date I’ve ever had.”

June laughs in spite of the tears still rolling down her cheeks. Nick’s face brightens at the improvement in her mood. He sits up a little straighter and all of her attention is finally on him as he continues.

“Maybe we can get that second date tonight. It’ll be hard to top the last one...but you never know- I might even ask you to put out.”

She laughs again, even harder this time. Her tears dry up. She’s forgotten about the soldiers. “God, you’re still such a terrible flirt.”

The left side of Nick’s mouth turns upward into a smile. He shrugs. “I don’t know, it seems to be working for me so far. I’ve got you, right?”

June rolls her eyes, looking off at the row of computers in the distance before returning her gaze to Nick. If he’s concerned, he doesn’t show it. He’s the perfect picture of composure in front of her, calm and collected. She can’t decide if that’s a relief or not. They’re quiet for a moment before Nick pulls her hands off his arm. He laces their fingers together between them, his eyes locked on hers.

“Look, these guys need me for just a little while. But all you have to do is say the word and we’re gone. We’ll leave. Together. I promise.” He stops to look at Tuello. “We’re staying here?” He phrases the last statement like a question, but his tone is firm, he’s making a statement. 

_ If you want to talk to me, we’re staying here. _

June likes it, the control. It’s something Gilead would never afford either of them. She glances over at the men in uniform again, and this time she catches a glimpse of the American flag on their sleeves.

_ Not Gilead _. 

Tuello nods. “We’re just going right down the hall to a conference room.” 

Nick turns back to June, a small yet confident smile on his lips. “See? I’ll still be here. If you need me, I’ll come right back.”

The reassurances work. June feels the icy grip of terror loosen its grip on her heightened senses. She starts to nod, and Nick starts nodding his head with her. 

“We’re not in trouble,” Nick keeps reassuring her. “We’re safe. But this all goes away right now if you say so.”

She releases a deep exhale before she shakes her head, steeling herself. “If you’re okay with it, then I’m okay.”

Nick drops her hands and pulls her into his chest for a hug, his arms wrapping tight around her torso. June squeezes her eyes shut as her arms wrap around his shoulders, feeling her momentary bravado crumble into dust now that she’s pressed against Nick. _ What if I never get to hold you like this again? _ She presses her face into his neck, breathing him in, and she feels him pull her in tighter, holding her impossibly close. 

When they finally push apart, Nick wipes a stray tear off her cheek— her moment of weakness exposed. She leans into his touch and his hand lingers on her cheek. “Tell them if you need me, okay? For anything. I’ll come right back. I promise.”

She nods and finally, he stands. He gives a quick single nod to the soldiers and together, they turn and leave with Nick, flanking him on both sides. He quickly turns back and glances at June over his shoulder and she gives him a quick smile and a wave, hoping she can reassure him that she’s okay. His eyebrows cross in concern before he turns his head back and disappears from her view with the soldiers. The dread starts to fill back in now that he’s gone and Tuello sits down next to her. 

“What are they going to do to him?” Her voice is flat, resigned. Her mind already on the worst-case scenario, conjuring up images of Nick in heavy metal handcuffs, being read his rights, arrested as a war criminal. 

“They just have some questions for him,” Tuello replies and June rolls her eyes, shaking her head. That’s what they said when she’d been pulled in and interrogated about Emily, and that ended with her getting shocked and beaten with a cattle prod. 

“Whatever you think he is, he’s not,” June turns and looks at Tuello, a new determination building inside her. She’s not in Gilead anymore. She can help. People will listen, her words carry a weight she’s not used to anymore. “He’s a good man. He helped me. Whatever I have to say, I will. He’s not like the others.”

“We know.”

June’s face wrinkles in confusion. 

_ They know? Then what the fuck is going on? Why did they take him away? _

Tuello flips open the file folder and hands June a sheet of paper. It’s a copy of a newspaper article, a picture of a large cargo plane sits in an otherwise empty airplane hangar, a Canadian flag hanging from a beam in the ceiling above it. She reads the headline above the picture:

**PLANE CARRYING GILEAD CHILDREN LANDS AT HAYES AIRFIELD**

“When Gilead lost Chicago, they also lost a lot of resources, like this cargo plane. Rebels were able to use them to their advantage. They’ve mobilized in ways that are unprecedented. This happened eight weeks ago.”

June’s eyes fly over the words on the page, picking up key details as Tuello talks to her. _ Fifty-four children. New England area. Boys, girls, and a few Marthas. Ages ranging from five to fourteen. _

“Your daughter, Hannah Bankole, was on the plane. She’s currently in Toronto with her father, Luke Bankole.”

June looks up from the page, stunned into speechlessness. 

Tuello motions to the paper in her now shaking hand.

“We know he helped a lot of people. Mr. Blaine’s not in trouble, Ms. Osborne. He’s a hero.”


	2. Soldier

Nick stands to follow his escorts, but June’s words linger in his mind, unsettling him.

_ I can’t lose you. _

Nick pauses, blinking heavily. He turns, looking over his shoulder. 

June’s still there- on the shabby couch in the Canadian refugee center. Dressed in boxy men’s clothes far too big for her. She feels his gaze and looks up to meet it. She forces a smile, raising her hand, waving weakly. Her face is wet, puffy and swollen. But her eyes are calm. Solid. Unafraid. He knows her expressions so well now. Her tells. He knows when she’s hiding something. When she’s lying. And he sees none of that._ She’s ok. _Exhausted, but ok.

He turns and follows the soldiers out of the room. 

_ I can’t lose you. _ The words echo in his mind, louder with each repetition. _ I can’t lose you. _ The phrase she’d sobbed in his arms their first night back together. She woke up screaming it, dreaming he’d been taken from her. _ I can’t lose you. _He’d said it too. A year ago. In his tiny apartment above Waterford’s garage, the night before he was deployed. Nick is sickened as vivid memories flood through him. Their last night together. The agony of their separation. Both of them powerless to stop it. All the horrors of their year apart. 

Of all the torments they had survived in Gilead, losing each other was the only thing they had ever truly feared. 

Nick pulls a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. _ It’s ok. _ He reminds himself. _ We’re out. It’s over. _But the dread remains. It can’t be helped. After everything they’d been through, being separated from June for any reason would always be like torture. 

Nick scans the hallway, trying to distract himself from his dark thoughts. The refugee center used to be a high school building. Eerily similar to the facility where they trained the Eyes in Gilead. _ It’s not Gilead. _ He tells himself. _ We’re out. _ He forces himself to focus on differences instead of similarities. 

His eyes fix on the open doors along the hallway. _ Unlocked. No guards. _ If this were a Gilead detention center, there would be two soldiers with automatic weapons outside every room. There would be screams. Nick draws a deep breath, forcing it out slowly. _ It’s not Gilead. We’re out. _He repeats this mantra, holding onto it as he’s ushered into a conference room.

Nick stops walking abruptly, his brows cinching together. Chilled by a fresh wave of panic. 

He hadn’t expected an audience, but the room is packed with people. Rows of chairs to his left are full of men in suits. To his right, three long folding tables are positioned in a rough semi-circle. 15 uniformed men are seated, waiting like a panel of inquisitors. 

In the center of the room is an empty table, with a single chair, and a glass of water. _No windows. Not enough air. _

Nick’s stomach twists. He wants to leave. To get June and go. 

But there’s a hand on his shoulder. Preventing escape. Urging him forward. He swallows thickly, his mouth dry. He forces himself to sit. His eyes linger on the glass of water. _ They never gave prisoners water in Gilead. _

Nick stares at his hands. Absently tapping his index finger against the table. He can hear the crowd shifting behind him. He glances up, scanning the patches and medals adorning the uniforms in front of him. Generals, statesmen. Government and military from the looks of it. 

Nick’s claustrophobia worsens when he sees a blinking red light behind the row of military men. A video camera- sitting atop a tripod, aimed at him. _ I haven’t talked to a lawyer. This will be public record. Admissible in court. _

Major Sutton takes his seat. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Blaine.” 

Nick looks up but says nothing. 

“Mr. Blaine?”

A wrinkle grows between his eyebrows. Nick nods acknowledgement.

Major Sutton picks up a pen and flips open a spiral bound notebook. “Let’s start with the 14th of February. The day the base fell to rebel forces. What do you remember about that day?”

Nick swallows, staring warily at the blinking red light. 


	3. Rebel

A gruff looking older General at the end of the table, whose frown has been growing the whole time, stands abruptly, stopping the proceedings. 

“Turn it off!” He barks, waving his hand at the video camera. “All of this shit. Turn it off.” 

Surprised murmurs ripple through the crowd behind Nick. 

Younger soldiers scramble to comply with the unexpected outburst. 

The General limps stiffly across the room. His subordinates free up a chair, placing it across the table from Nick. But the General continues around the table, making it clear he wants to sit closer. His underlings comply, placing the chair behind him.

The old grizzled man sits with a groan, at Nick’s side, as his equal. He speaks slowly and clearly, with heavy eye contact. Wanting to make sure he’s understood. 

“Son, we’re _ grateful _for what you did. You turned the tide of the war.” He holds his hand out. “America thanks you for your service.” 

Nick blinks, brow furrowed. He takes the offered hand, shaking it. 

The General nods, exhaling. “Have you spoken with a lawyer yet? Gotten your immunity paperwork signed?” 

Nick shakes his head.

The General’s white grizzled eyebrows pinch together. He glares at his subordinates. “Get a _ lawyer _ in here, _ now _!” A soldier strides from the room immediately. The General fixes his eyes on Nick’s. 

“Sorry about that, son.”

Nick nods. 

The General surveys the room. Barking out additional orders. “Anyone without military clearance leaves now. This hearing is now classified.”

Half of the people behind him stand and file out. The General’s eyes narrow as he surveys the remaining audience. “That includes bureaucrats and civilians. _ Out _.” Another group of men in suits stand and leave. 

He lowers his voice to a whisper only Nick can hear. “You’re not in trouble. It’s the big fish we want. Gilead leadership. We’ll start at the top, Ok? Let’s get your paperwork signed, get you something to eat, then we’ll have a conversation for the record. Anything you can think to tell us that we can use to bring those bastards down for good.”

Nick nods, his muscles relaxing, releasing a slow breath. 

The old man leans forward, eyes bright with curiosity. “But now that the busybodies are gone…” 

Chairs scrape against the floor as the remaining military leaders settle around the table in a circle. Like a team. The energy in the room has changed completely. 

“We’re all just so damn eager to hear about Chicago. Off the record, son…man to man...how the hell did you do it?”

Nick’s eyes flit from soldier to soldier, reading them. They look at him with admiration. Respect. Their faces are scarred just like his back. He swallows thickly. _ They’ve been there too. They’ll understand. _

He glances at the video camera. It’s off. The room is empty aside from this small ring of men. Nick’s eyes glaze over a little as he lets the memories flood back over him, his mind made up.

_ I’ll tell them. Just facts- that’s all they want. The who, what, where and when. Everything but the why. _

The why isn’t relevant. The depths of horror and darkness in those months won’t make the story any better. He’d been a bomb waiting to go off. Desperate and angry. A breath away from exploding. 

* * *

**FEBRUARY 14**

Nick pulls his coat on quickly and leaves his tent. He has no plan. No idea of what action he could take. All he knows is he’s doing _ something. _ Tonight, something’s going to give. 

_ This ends now. _ The broken record in his head doesn’t stop, the phrase playing on repeat as he heads out into the camp _ . This ends here. It stops with me. No more. _

Nick quickens his pace, boots crunching on the frozen soil. He turns the collar of his thick commander’s coat up against the cold, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

His fingertips brush against the letters he’d written June and Holly, tucked carefully next to the precious pictures of his daughter that June had sent him. _ My lifeline. My purpose. _ He steels himself, the reminders of his family only serve to strengthen his resolve. 

_ This is for you. Whatever happens tonight is for you two. _

His mind is quiet for the first time in months. No thoughts, no worries. Just observations. 

The camp is quiet. The tents are dark. 

_ The monster is asleep. Vulnerable. _

This realization makes his heart race. He feels almost sick with the adrenaline rush. 

The Gilead war machine seemed untouchable. Built on the back of American tanks, jets and artillery. A powerhouse by inheritance. Unearned. Stolen. Just like everything else in Gilead.

It’s never been a fair fight. Their enemy— ragged bands of rebels, fighting the good fight— had never dared to attack outright. It would have been suicide. 

Nick looks across row after row of tents, still and silent in the moonlight. Not a guard in sight. With narrowed eyes, he continues to scan the horizon, a plan slowly, finally, coming together in his head.

The base is several miles across. There are only ten guards on patrol at night. One on each corner of the camp, walking the borders, and six more posted outside each of three key buildings. Two each at the rec center, the munitions depot, and the communications tent. 

_ So vulnerable _ . _ So exposed. With the right plan, the right information, they’d never see it coming. _

Nick realizes that’s his play. He has to get information to Mayday somehow. All it would take is a night raid with enough firepower to what- burn the tents? Blow them up? Shoot them all? He shakes his head to rid the thought, thinking of the sleeping children in the tents. Most of them 17, 18 years old. _ They’re just kids, this isn’t their war _ . _ It’s not their fault. _

He tries to refocus. All he has to do is get information to Mayday. Someone else can come up with the plan. One that he hopes will minimize casualties. He inhales sharply and is immediately pulled from his thoughts by the smell of smoke. 

Cigarettes. Good ones. 

He stops, searching the darkness. The reddish glow of a burning ember by the woodline betrays the location of its owner. Nick walks toward the shadow. The soldier shifts slightly but does NOT stand at attention as required. 

_ Rebellion. _ Even at this hour, complete compliance was expected. Nick needs to know who was breaking the rules, but more importantly who had seen him. 

As he closes in, Nick sighs with relief as he recognizes the silhouette. It’s Tyler. The kid that brings his mail, the one who had pulled him away from the Commanders earlier that afternoon. There were no friends in a place like this, but Tyler was the closest thing he had. 

Tyler presses his cigarette tight between his lips as he pulls out the pack and a lighter, holding them out to Nick. 

Nick holds his gaze. “That’s contraband.”

Tyler pulls a slow drag and angles his lips to blow the smoke to the side. He nods, calling Nick’s bluff. 

Nick smirks and takes the pack and lighter, pulling out a cigarette and shielding it from the wind as he lights up. The harsh burn of the smoke in his lungs and rush from the nicotine is unspeakably good. Familiar. Calming. 

Nick tries to give the pack back to Tyler, who shakes his head with a grin. “Plenty more where that came from.”

Nick nods thanks, pocketing both the lighter and the cigarettes. 

“It’s never gonna end, is it?” Tyler asks, gesturing around the base. He drops the butt and stamps it out with the toe of his boot. Grinding the used shell into the ground. 

_ That’s what Gilead will do with all of these young men. Tyler, me. Next week. At the next raid. We’re all going to die. For nothing. _

Nick shakes his head. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts. 

“It’ll end.” Nick says. Taking a deep drag on his cigarette. He holds the smoke as long as he can, releasing it slowly. “Everything ends.” 

Tyler holds his gaze, eyes narrowed. Waiting for something. 

“Thanks.” Nick says with a smile. “Now go to bed before I report you.” 

Tyler watches as Nick drops the last of his cigarette, burned right down to the filter, on the ground. He steps on the still smoldering butt with the heel of his boot as he turns sharply, setting off with calm confidence back into the heart of the base. His stride is measured and purposeful as his left hand comes to grip his right fist behind his back, his shoulders squared with determination.

Nick heads straight for the visiting Commander’s tents. The most powerful men from the Atlantic, Midwest, and Gulf districts. Twenty in all. The equivalent of state Senators. Some even more powerful than that.

His staff had spared no expense, preparing all week for their arrival. Brand new tents has been set up for them. Stocked with every available luxury. Cushions, air mattresses and extra blankets. Food, water and lanterns. 

But they’re empty. 

Nick searches the tents, pulling back pillows and blankets. Looking for anything they may have left, but it’s clear they haven’t even seen the space. It’s untouched. 

Nick shakes his head, clenching his jaw. _ They’re in the rec center. _ He thinks. _ The one heated building on the base. Warm and safe while their soldiers freeze out here. _The blatant disrespect of this move doesn't escape him. Protocol matters in the military. They were supposed to sleep with their soldiers. As a show of respect and thanks for the conditions they asked the men to endure. 

Nick straightens, folding his hands behind his back again and striding to his office tent. He pushes aside the vinyl flap that serves as his door, making his way inside. 

This had been his home. His limbo, his purgatory for the past year. A hell of his own creation. A prison he hadn’t had the courage to escape. 

He knows the space by heart, even in the dark. He goes to his desk. Sure enough, the commanders had brought new documents for him to sign. As though the war was his. As if he was in control. Washing their hands and putting the blood on his. 

_ It’s never going to end. _

Nick hears a low rushing in his ears. It pulses with every heartbeat. He pulls his mind above it. Refusing to give in to rage. _ Not yet. Focus. _

He flips the folder open. 

His eyes widen as he reads their plans for the next raid. Twice as big as the last one. They want to fly in jets from an old Air Force base in Ohio. Drop bombs in the center of the city. And then when rebels are busy helping clean up, they’ll send in reinforcements on foot. 

_ This isn’t a military attack. It’s slaughter. _ This will hurt civilians. Innocent men, women, and children. It’s brutal and calculated and cruel. He squeezes his eyes shut, swallowing down the urge to vomit. 

Nick snaps the folder closed, unable to look at its contents a second longer. He tucks it under his arm, pulling his key ring off his hip, walking quickly to the file cabinet. He pulls out every folder that could help Mayday. Maps. Personnel reports and supply lists. Classified memos. As much information as he can carry. 

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do with this dossier, this cache of military documents. He just knows he has to hide them. 

  
He puts his empty briefcase on the desk, tucking the valuable documents inside and locking it. He’s the only one who knows the code. _0207._ _Holly’s birthday. _

A visceral wave of despair overtakes him. His hands tremble as he digs for her picture in his pocket. He pulls it out, stroking her little cheek with his thumb, staring at her in the darkness, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. _ Hey sweetheart. _

Nick walks quickly toward his personal tent, thinking that’s where he’ll hide his briefcase when he stops dead in his tracks. 

_ When they realize I’m missing, that the documents are missing, that’s the first place they’ll look. And if they find them and then find me I’m _—

He’s halfway to his tent, alongside rows of tanks, their shiny armor glistening in the moonlight. Suddenly, he’s paralyzed with fear. Knowing what awaits him if he’s caught. What they’ll do to him. How he’ll die when they discover his rebellion. He’s seen people tortured for much less than what he’s planning, which will amount to treason for Gilead.

He fumbles for the cigarettes and lighter in his pocket, needing another rush of nicotine to calm his nerves. His hands shake as he puts the cigarette between his lips. But he stops himself before igniting the lighter— the air is thick with gasoline fumes from the tanks. _ Fuck. One spark and I could blow this place sky high. _

He pauses, turning the lighter over in his hand, brushing his thumb over the serrated steel of the sparkwheel. 

He closes the lighter up in his fist. His eyes rise slowly. He knows what he has to do. 

He walks quickly to the nearest woodline, tossing the briefcase into the forest. Making mental note of the location.

The next stop is the hardware shed. Unguarded at night. He fills a small duffle bag with supplies. Grabbing everything he thinks he might need. 

He walks straight for the rec center. The pulsing in his ears growing louder with every step. The Commander’s words from dinner echoing in his mind.

“What really happened, Blaine? With your wife? We saw your file.

We’ll make sure your next one can’t run Blaine.

Leg weights maybe?”

The rush of blood in his ears is deafening. 

_ Leg weights. __T__hat’s how she died. __Her tiny feet were chained _ _to kettlebells t__hat dragged her down __as the water swallowed her screams. __She was chained to me...__and love was her escape- h__er rebellion. __I should have done something. __I should have stopped it. _

Nick walks past the munitions depot, nodding at the guards as they salute. He focuses on the weight of his handgun in its holster on his hip. _ No way to get new weapons. Just what I have on me._

He walks the perimeter of the rec center— an old, red brick building. The two guards that should be at the entrance are missing and everything is quiet and dark. A smirk crosses his lips as his plan falls into place, thankful for the unexpected assistance. _ The Commanders sent the guards away. Typical. They didn’t want witnesses. No peeping eyes to see their hypocrisy and corruption. _

Nick circles the building a second time to be sure he’s fully in the clear before he gets to work. One by one, he goes around the building, securing every potential exit with padlocks and chains from his duffel bag. Locking all of them down tight except one.

** _Let’s see who can’t run away now. _ **


	4. Mayday

Nick checks his watch- it’s nearly 3 AM. 

The cooks are scheduled to start work at 6 AM to prepare the morning meal, and the soldiers will start arriving soon after. 

Nick works quickly to prepare the final exit, wrapping a chain around the outer door handle, hanging an open padlock from the last link. He won’t have much time if he makes it back outside. 

He turns, scanning the camp. _ No sound. No movement. Everyone’s still asleep. _ He releases a slow breath, looking up at the moon and letting the light center him. He draws a final breath and removes his gun from the holster on his hip. He enters the rec center, pulling the door shut behind him. 

Nick starts into the dark, empty building, treading lightly. Emergency lights cast an eerie green glow down the linoleum hallways as he methodically checks offices, old locker rooms, and the kitchen. 

The building seems unoccupied. The halls are dark and empty. 

Nothing is out of order until he reaches the former gymnasium. The Commanders have made a mess of athletic mats, blankets, chairs, and pillows. It reeks of booze. Bloated bodies lay snoring loudly with liquor bottles scattered around them. Nick walks quietly to the nearest Commander, nudging him with his boot. He’s out cold. Hard drunk, no reaction at all. Nick’s Mayday contact had reviewed smuggled goods with him recently. There wasn’t any alcohol this far north, even on the black market. _ They must have brought it with them_._ Unwilling to go without their vices for even a few days. _

But then something else catches his eye. Nick stoops to pick up a magazine from the floor. A faded 1960’s Playboy. The cover girl is wearing bunny ears, black gloves, and a black bodysuit. He’d seen the same costume at Jezebel’s the first night he drove June there with Waterford. His forehead creases as he flips through the magazine quickly, the pages greasy and yellowed from hundreds of hands. He shakes his head and tucks the magazine in his back pocket.

He holsters his gun. _ 20 men. Only 15 bullets. It won’t work. _

Out of options, Nick heads to the kitchen, scanning the space, surveying the tools available to him. Looking for other weapons. There’s a knife block by the door. He considers this, but shakes his head. _Too much noise- would wake the others. _

_ What I need is a bomb _ . _ Something incendiary. _ His eyes land on the stovetops. Three of them in a row. Stainless steel and industrial. All with gas burners. 

He knows what he’s going to do.

He starts making his way around the kitchen, gathering dish rags, cardboard, and any other flammable items he can find before heading to one of the ovens. He pulls the heavy steel door open, tossing what he’d found inside. He kneels down, surveying his work, before pulling a piece of cardboard back out of the messy pile. 

He fishes Tyler’s lighter out of his pocket and holds it to the cardboard, waiting for it to catch fire. It takes too long, and he finds himself wishing he had paper, something _crispier_. He throws the cardboard back into the oven and pulls the Playboy magazine out of his back pocket. 

He rips out a page and throws the rest of the magazine into the oven. He flicks the lighter again, holding it to the corner of the page. He smiles as the flame immediately takes to the paper, the corner curling up and turning black as the flame travels up the page, growing in intensity as it consumes the paper. 

“Blaine.”

Nick says nothing as his smile falls. He doesn’t take his eyes off the burning magazine page.

“The fuck are you doing?” It’s Commander Payton. 

Nick tosses the still burning page into the oven, right in the middle of his pile of kindling. “Warming up. Same as you,” he finally replies.

There’s heavy breathing behind him. Then Nick hears a knife being pulled from the knife block and clumsy footsteps stumbling closer and closer and he stands, turning quickly on his left heel just in time to avoid a lethal stab wound. 

The knife still slices down his back, through his coat, but he grabs the Commander’s wrists, and they lock in a wrestling match. 

Nick knees the man in the crotch and knocks Payton’s arm against the counter, hard, again and again, until he dislodges the knife from his hand. It falls on the floor, clattering near their scuffling feet. 

Nick kicks it and the knife skitters away across the floor. 

Smoke from the fire starts swirling around the men and Payton moves to close the oven door in an attempt to contain the flames. Nick stops him, slamming him back against a stainless steel workbench.

Payton fights back. He headbutts Nick, allowing himself the space he needs to scramble away. Through the smoke, he sees the knife and he makes a move to retrieve it.

He’s three steps away from the weapon when Nick tackles him from behind, holding him down, rolling Payton to his back, straddling him, finally earning the upper hand over the drunken older man and everything goes red as his fists start flying. 

_ Blood on his hands. In his eyes. On the floor. So much blood. Like June in the garden. Like the sheets under Eden. Red like June’s dress. Red on his wrists. Little rivulets, brought to the surface by the fingernails clawing his skin, weaker with every passing second. Red broken blood vessels in dead staring eyes. _

The Commander hasn’t fought back in several minutes. Nick’s fists stop. 

He’s breathing hard. Pulse pounding in his ears. Everything’s quiet except for the soft popping of the small fire that still burns in the oven. His mind is clear, in spite of the thick smoke that’s starting to fill the kitchen. 

Nick stands, walking quickly to the gymnasium, making sure he won’t have any more surprises. _ They’re still out. They didn’t hear _. 

He collects as many liquor bottles and magazines as he can carry, making his way back to the kitchen with all of it. 

He stuffs the rest of the ovens with most of the old magazines and flips them all on to the highest temperature setting. Then, he turns on every gas burner, ripping out pages from the remaining magazines and dropping them on the stovetop to fuel the fire, the blue flames dancing in the darkness as they start to spread.

Finally, he pours the liquor over the Commander’s corpse, trailing it along the floor in the kitchen all the way to his exit, where he stops momentarily to catch his breath, away from the smoke. 

He tosses the lighter onto the liquor trail before opening the door and stepping back outside of the building, securing the door with the chain and padlock. He tosses his key ring as far as he can toward the woods. 

Nick leans against the brick wall of the rec center. Exhausted. 

His shirt is wet and sticky on his back and yet it feels like it’s on fire. Gingerly, he reaches around and touches his wound with two fingers— noting that they’re dark with blood when he pulls them back. 

He pauses, sucking in breaths, trying to breathe through the pain. 

“Hey! You!” 

Two pairs of footsteps are running toward him on the frozen ground. _ Guards _ . _ Alerted by the men at the Depot. _

And then a loud pop breaks the silence of the night, and Nick’s shoulder is on fire. 

His hand instinctively flies to his hip, releasing his gun from its holster, raising the gun and firing into the distance. Nick's face twists in agony and he grunts loudly. Six more loud pops follow but Nick’s not sure who's shooting or if he hit anything, or how many times he pulled his trigger. He can't think of anything but the pain in his shoulder. It's too much. He slides down against the brick wall, unable to stay on his feet another second.

Everything’s quiet again. The guards never get any closer. There are no more gunshots.

Nick swallows hard, trying to ignore the pain pulsing in his arm and the warm stickiness that’s now covering the front of his body too. He hurts all over and his fingers feel like ice. He can see his labored breath escaping into the night air in short puffs. 

_ Alone again. _

He reaches for the picture of Holly in his coat pocket, but searing pain shoots down his arm. He can’t reach her, so he talks to her instead. 

_ It’s ok sweetie. Don’t be scared. I’ve got you. _

Inside the building, the fire alarm starts to sound. He smiles, his eyes closing. 

_ It worked. _

And then, he hears a single set of boots running on gravel, getting closer. Someone’s at his side. Nick forces his heavy lids open. 

It’s Tyler. Looking in horror at the padlocked doors, then back to Nick, recognition crossing his face. 

“Get up, come on, we gotta go.” 

Tyler pulls Nick’s right hand, trying to get him to stand. Nick yells in pain, wrenching his hand free, pulling his arm tight against his body, like a bird protecting an injured wing. 

“Lieutenant Blaine, we gotta go, Sir. Lieutenant...” 

The words die on Tyler’s lips. Nick has mustered all the strength he has left, grabbing Tyler’s collar with his good hand, balling the fabric up in his fist, pulling him in close, until their faces are inches apart. 

Nick’s eyes darken as he holds Tyler’s gaze, making sure he doesn’t look away. “Don’t call me that,” He growls, his voice dark and violent. “It’s Nick. Just Nick.”

Tyler nods, his eyes wide, taken aback by the intensity of Nick’s grip and his tone, eyes darting back to the acrid, thick smoke pouring out around the door. Screams have joined the sound of the fire alarm now, fists pounding the door from the inside. 

“You got it, Nick.” Tyler says, nodding. “But we’re gonna burn up too if you don’t let me help you, ok? We gotta walk.”

Tyler takes Nick’s left hand and helps him up, throwing his arm over his shoulders. Nick’s legs are dead weight, weak and numb. Tyler is moving them quickly, supporting as much of his weight as he can, pulling them into a trot. “There we go. Lean on me, I got you.” Tears bead in Nick’s eyes from the pain. His right shoulder is on fire. Like a knife is going straight through it. Every step twists the blade.

When they get to the wood line, hidden from view, Tyler sits Nick against a tree. Nick leans his head back, chest heaving, eyes closed, the short walk leaving him completely spent. 

_ Finally. _

_ Quiet. _

_ Peace. _

Tyler’s hands feel wet. He looks down. They’re covered in blood. 

He checks Nick’s shirt. It’s completely soaked. Tyler’s face pinches with concern. He unbuttons the top two buttons of Nick’s shirt and sees the shoulder wound, waves of dark blood pulsing out with each heartbeat. 

“Fuck,” Tyler mutters, pressing the heel of his palm directly against the wound— leaning with all of his weight to staunch the bleeding. Nick hisses, wincing in pain. 

Tyler pulls the walkie talkie off his hip. “Requesting backup,” He barks into the radio. There’s no response. Just silence. He curses under his breath again. After another long minute, he knows there isn’t time to waste with code or obscurities. 

“Jordan. I need you.” 

A few seconds later— a harsh buzz of static. A voice cuts through the night. “Tyler. Talk to me.”

Nick startles next to Tyler, the walkie static awakening some deep primal fear in him. “No no no no,” Nick mutters weakly. “No, don’t call them.”

Tyler ignores Nick’s protests and continues his orders into the radio. “I’ve got him. Woods by the rec center. Bring my kit.”

“You got it.”

Tyler tosses the walkie talkie down and turns his attention back to Nick who is shaking his head between labored breaths. “We can’t … trust them.”

A sly smile crosses Tyler’s face. “It’s ok. He’s with us.”

Nick shakes his head, not understanding. 

“Mayday. Half the camp is Mayday, Nick.”

Nick closes his eyes, taking in Tyler’s words, feeling the slightest sense of relief wash over him knowing that maybe, just maybe, what he did will matter. 

“How?” he whispers. Fatigue pulling him down again. He knows he should fight it. Stay awake. But the cold doesn’t hurt anymore. He’s numb and tired and heavy and all he wants to do is sleep. 

“The last raid killed so many people, we made sure the new wave of recruits was mostly rebels. We were just waiting for you to...” 

“No…” Nick interrupts. “Tonight. How’d you know?”

Tyler smirks. “You looked different. I knew you were up to something. I woke my guys and then came to check on you. Took the guards out. Hid their bodies in the woods. I was ready for a bigger fight but you’d already taken care of senior management. Well done.”

Suddenly, Nick’s eyes snap back open, remembering something. “I took some documents. There’s a briefcase,” he begins, swallowing hard, feeling himself struggling to get the words out. “In the woods, by my tent.”

Tyler nods, placing a reassuring hand on his good shoulder. “Ok. We’ll find it. We’ll get it. Just rest, man.”

Nick relaxes again. _ At least now if I die tonight _ _ ... _

That thought stirs something else in him. Without warning, Nick starts moving. Hissing in sharply, frozen by blinding pain from his shoulder. 

Tyler’s brow furrows. “Hey, try to be still…”

But Nick becomes increasingly agitated, biting his lip, holding his breath through the pain and reaching across his body with his good arm, fumbling for his coat pocket. “I need it,” he mumbles, his fingers stretching.

“What do you need? Something in your pocket?” Tyler takes one hand from Nick’s shoulder, reaching into his coat and pulling out the folded bundle of papers from Nick’s pocket— June’s letter wrapped around Holly’s pictures. He presses it into Nick’s hand, which grips it thankfully, tightly. Nick lays his head back against the tree, visibly relieved, covered in sweat from his exertions. He clutches June’s letter, rubbing it with his thumb, her words flooding back into his mind. 

_ Hold on, Nick. _

_ Do not give up on me. _

_ You’ll get to me, and I’ll get to you. _

_ We’ll make it. _

_ Just don’t give up. _

_ Hang on a little longer. _

_ I know you can. _

“I can’t…I’m sorry...” he murmurs, brows clenching, shaking his head. His body tenses, teeth gritting, struggling to get up. “Please.”

“Easy, buddy. Just rest.”

_ I’m sorry. I’m trying. _

_ I love you. So much. _

_ And tell Holly I love her. _

_ I loved her from the moment I knew she was inside you. _

_ I’ll always love her. You too. _

_ Please tell her. _

Nick swallows hard. “Tell her…” 

His attention shifts— he turns his head to the side. A faint orange flicker dances on the horizon and there’s shouting, but it’s fuzzy, like it’s coming from the end of a long tunnel. He squeezes his eyes shut. 

There are footsteps, boots crunching on fallen leaves. They get quicker. Someone’s running. Nick blinks his eyes open and everything is blurry, obscured by darkness. But then a flashlight clicks on, illuminating a silhouette above him. A head of messy curls bent over him. Trying to help him. Nick smiles. 

_ Josh _. 

_ It’s good to see you. _

“Can he take his coat off?”

“No, he’s shot. Right shoulder.” 

_ But _ _ — _ _ you can’t be here. _

_ You’re dead. _

“Nick, I need you to lean forward for me, we’re gonna take your shirt off.” Nick doesn’t respond to them. He’s moaning, eyes clenched shut, brow furrowed and dotted with cold sweat.

_ I need to say goodbye. _

_ I never got to say goodbye to you or mom. _

_ I can’t do that to her. _

_ I have to say goodbye. _

_ If I don’t make it you have to do it. _

_ Somehow. You have to tell her, Josh. _

“Tell her… Josh…” Nick mumbles through the moans.

Tyler lays his tools out on a plastic sheet on the ground. He glances at Jordan, signaling he’s ready with a nod. 

Jordan pulls Nick upright to a sitting position. Tyler holds Nick’s face with his hands, trying to get his attention. 

“I’ve gotta get this shirt off. Ok, buddy? Gotta get this bleeding stopped.” 

Nick’s heavy lids have already blinked shut again, his head falling forward. Nick’s talking faster now. Feverish. He shakes his head weakly. “_ Josh _ ... _ I’m fine. Just let me lay down.” _

Jordan holds Nick’s torso upright as Tyler cuts the seams of Nick’s coat and shirt with trauma shears, his hands steady and experienced. 

He looks at Nick with his head drooped forward, mumbling to himself. Tyler shakes his head. “This is gonna hurt, Nick. I’m sorry.” 

The men then work together, moving his lifeless, limp limbs like he’s a ragdoll to peel the sticky fabric from his chest and back. When Tyler pulls the shirt away from his shoulder, lifting his right arm to pull the blood soaked fabric away, Nicks head snaps back up, eyes shut, his jaw clenched to choke back a scream. His whole body is rigid against the blinding jolt of pain. He’s bare chested, skin wet with blood, shivering hard in the darkness.

Jordan holds pressure on Nick’s shoulder wound while Tyler surveys Nick’s chest, back and abdomen for other injuries. 

He quickly finds the laceration on his back, gets the bleeding stopped, and gets it covered. The two men secure a tight pressure dressing in place over his shoulder, bandaging his arm into a sling secured to his side.

About halfway through dressing his wounds, they notice that the resistance has gone out of Nick’s muscles— he isn’t fighting them anymore. The stream of mumbled thoughts has fallen silent. 

“Shit.” Tyler says, recognizing this change. “He’s out.”

They lay Nick flat on the ground. He’s limp, his breaths even but quick and shallow. No longer shivering. His skin is clammy, rapidly cooling, losing heat to the frozen earth beneath him.

Tyler grabs a small foil package, ripping it open, spreading a thin metallic emergency blanket over Nick’s body. Hoping to hold in what little heat he has left.

Tyler feels for Nick’s wrist pulse, but there is none. He moves his fingers to his neck, relieved to feel a thready but regular pulse. He looks at his watch, timing the heart rate. Tyler shakes his head. 

“He’s in shock. Hypothermic. Tachycardic. Pale. Sweaty. No radial pulse. ”  
  


“We gotta get him outta here.”

Tyler nods. “He lost a lot of blood, he needs a hospital.”

“I’ll call for transport.” Jordan flips his walkie on, holding it to his ear, listening to the frequency the rebels had reserved for emergencies only. A frequency that, before tonight, had been silent. A smile crosses his face as he listens to a steady back and forth, excited voices talking quickly. 

“What?” Tyler asks, brows cinching together.

Jordan’s shakes his head in wonder. “It’s happening... We did it.”

“Did what?”

“Go look,” Jordan says, nodding toward the camp. 

Tyler stands, walking out of the woods and into the field by the rec center. His jaw dropping open in shock. “Holy shit,” he breathes out.

Next to the burning shell of the rec center, rows of Gilead soldiers are surrounded by Mayday soldiers with automatic weapons. 

Pairs of armed rebels go from tent to tent, waking the camp slowly, collecting the unarmed, disoriented teenagers, blinking sleep from their eyes. A herd of terrified shivering children in boxer shorts and white undershirts. They were caught off guard. Unarmed and unequipped. No way to raise an alarm. No superiors to respond even if they had. There was no shouting. No gunshots. The takeover had been peaceful and fully successful. 

Another, larger group of rebels is working quickly to distribute blankets and bottled water. Returning to the tents to gather additional clothes for their shivering brothers. Showing mercy to the most vulnerable among them- mercy they would never have received if the tables had been turned. Gilead had no mercy. No humanity. Gilead kept no survivors- leaving only slaughter and carnage in its wake.

But that is all over now. At least for these ones here. The battle is over. 

They're free. 


	5. Father

Nick comes out of his briefing with a heavy sigh and checks his watch. His brows cinch together.

_ It’s late. _

He glances up at a nearby window to confirm this fact, and sure enough the sky outside is inky black. 

His whole body is heavy and he’s exhausted, emotionally and physically. Reliving his time in Gilead took more of a toll on him than he expected. He leans against a wall, taking a moment to compose himself. 

The emotions swirling inside him are complicated. There’s relief that he finally signed an immunity agreement. There’s worry because June never called for him, not once. 

_ Tuello spoke with her. What did he tell her? How much does she know? Does it change how she feels about us? _ Nick is terrified he’ll walk back to the cafeteria and find it empty.

His mind is still spinning, but he decides to make his way back to where he’d left June, hoping to find her waiting, but knowing there’s no guarantee she’d be there.

Nick saunters into the cafeteria, footsteps heavy with apprehension. He looks at the couch where he’d last seen June, and his heart rate spikes at her absence. Even here, where he knows she’s safe, the idea of her being gone terrifies him so much he feels it in his bones. 

Quickly, he scans the room and locates her on another couch. His initial fear is calmed, his world completed, at the exact same moment that it stops spinning entirely.

Because June hasn’t noticed his presence. She only has eyes for the dark-headed toddler that she’s smiling at, sitting facing her on her lap.

_ Holly _ . 

Nick is rooted in place, transfixed, trying to let his heart catch up with what he’s seeing when June looks up and notices his presence. She smiles even wider somehow, welcoming Nick back to her. The spell is broken. His dread finally disappears.

Slowly, carefully, he walks over to them. The image before him surely too perfect to be real. He’s afraid to breathe or blink, afraid if he moves too fast or changes anything, they’ll both vanish into thin air. 

Nick sinks down slowly on the couch next to June. His hands shake as he places them flat on his lap. 

He can’t take his eyes off of Holly. 

Long gone is the fragile newborn he’d held more than a year ago. And this isn’t the baby from the pictures June had sent him either. The pictures that had been his lifeline in more ways than one. 

Sitting on June’s lap, wearing tiny snow boots and an impossibly tiny yellow sweatshirt with cat ears on the hood, is a bright-eyed and curious toddler, just as interested in him as he is in her. Her dark hair curls around her ears and the neck of her hoodie, her mouth drawn in a straight line as she blinks her wide blue eyes at him. 

Nick swallows hard, his emotions swirling in him, so overwhelmed he doesn’t know what to do.

“How’d it go?”

He’s so lost in his own head that he almost misses June’s question, but her words start to bring him out of his thoughts. He blinks as he takes a deep breath, finally looking up at her, nodding. 

“Good.” 

She nods with him as his eyes drift back to Holly, still quiet on June’s lap but staring at him hard. 

He looks back at June again, a soft smile on her face. Her eyes drift back and forth between father and daughter. 

“Moira brought her,” June explains. “Apparently, they have some kind of alert system. She went to get dinner. Something better than this, according to her,” June takes one of her hands off Holly’s back to motion to the buffet station across the room as Nick nods, grateful for the explanation. 

He looks down at his hands.  _ Moira _ . A reminder of June’s life before him. Of all the things he had expected to deal with today, the worry over where he may or may not fit into June’s life now wasn’t one of them. He swallows hard. 

“And Hannah is in Toronto with Luke. She couldn’t miss school.”

Nick’s head snaps up. Suddenly, the worry is gone. Replaced with confusion again at more unbelievable news. “Hannah’s out too?” June smiles at him, nodding her head. 

“Tuello told me about Chicago.” 

Nick’s eyes find hers. He nods, bracing himself. 

“He said that when Gilead lost Chicago you were a big help. He didn’t have all the details. He didn’t know how you helped the rebels, but…” she trails off, shrugging her shoulders. 

Nick stares at her, realizing the details don’t matter to her. A flicker of hope stirs in his heart. 

June takes a deep breath. Speaking slowly. Wanting to make sure he hears her. “That’s how she got out, Nick. There was a cargo plane at your camp. When it fell to the rebels, they used it to evacuate children. Hannah was on that plane.”

Nick closes his eyes.  _ The cargo plane.  _ It’d been due to fly back to an old Air Force base in Ohio the day before he’d taken action, but the Commanders had delayed it’s return. Nick suspected it was so they could make an early escape from the base. He hadn’t even thought of the ways it could be helpful to Mayday.

June nudges him and his eyes flutter back open, meeting hers. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, blinking back unshed tears.

Nick’s forehead creases as he shakes his head. “I just did what I had to do. Tried to make it right.” 

June sighs as she looks at him. “I know.  _ Thank you. _ ”

Nick takes a deep breath as he nods once, an acceptance of her gratitude, his eyes soft and warm as he stares at her. 

Next to him, Holly has grown restless on June’s lap, wiggling and whining, pushing both of her little hands into her mother’s torso, her face scrunched into a pout.

June shifts her attention, smiling down at her daughter patiently. 

“Holly, this is Nick.” June begins, smiling as matching blue eyes meet her own. She speaks slowly and deliberately, wanting to make sure every word she says is understood. “Nick is your daddy.” 

They both turn to look at Nick at the same time, and his breath catches in his chest at the sight of them together, a smile on June’s face and curiosity on Holly’s. He’d imagined this moment so many times, but never dared to dream it would ever actually come to pass. He tries to calm his racing heart and relax his face as he raises one hand and wiggles his fingers awkwardly in a wave.

“Do you remember him? From your letters?”

Everything is still for a moment, but then Holly lurches forward, crawling off June’s lap and right onto Nick’s. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as she shifts onto his lap. The weight of her small body against his is welcome, but also a painful reminder of the last time he’d gotten to be with her. 

She centers herself on his legs and then, with her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration, she grunts as she pulls herself up to standing so she’s face to face with Nick, balancing herself with one foot on each of his thighs. Instinctively, his hands fly up to brace her legs, giving her the support she needs so she won’t topple backward. 

Holly purses her lips as she brings both of her little hands to his face, putting one on each cheek. Nick is quiet as she studies him, still as a statue, afraid if he moves he’ll startle her. 

She moves her hands on his face like she’s examining him for authenticity, and as she presses her left hand down on the side of his head, her little thumb nearly goes in his eye. He pulls away gently, his eye squeezing shut as a chuckle escapes his lips. He doesn’t have the heart to remind her to be careful. Finally, her left hand comes to rest on the top of his head, her little fingers tangling in his dark curls before she pats the top of his head, twice. Whatever test she was giving him, he passed. Holly turns to June triumphantly.

“Daddy night!” Holly calls out happily, in her tiny voice. “Pince night!”

Nick’s mind races as he tries to figure out what she’s saying. 

_ Does she think she pinched me? She’s telling me good night?  _

He doesn’t know. The words mean nothing to him except one. He’d understood one. The word he’d never expected to hear from his daughter. 

_ Daddy. _

_ She knows me. Somehow. She knows who I am. _

His mouth drops open in shock and he looks over at June smiling widely at the two of them, tears tracked down her cheeks, nodding vigorously at Holly’s words. Whatever she said, June understood it. The words mean something to her. “That’s right, baby. You know who he is, don’t you?”

Holly turns to look at her mother, her head bobbing up and down in a crude nod as she proudly repeats herself. “Daddy night.” A toothy smile lights up her face as the words leave her lips. 

“Do you want to give daddy a hug?” 

Holly turns her attention back to Nick, falling against him with all of her weight, her tiny arms wrapping around his neck awkwardly, her head bumping into his as she leans against him. 

Nick’s breath catches again, his heart aching in his chest, fighting back his instinct to hold her tightly, not wanting to overwhelm her. Instead, he returns the hug gently, bringing one hand up to rest on her little back, his hand spanning the width of it. He rubs his thumb up and down slowly, reassuringly. His eyes flutter closed as he leans his head against hers, their matching set of dark curls resting together.

I love you, sweetie,” he whispers, his voice practically non-existent, unable to form around the lump in his throat and the tears threatening to fall from his eyes. “I missed you so much.”

Finally, Holly lets go of Nick’s neck and plops down in his lap, leaning against him, content and happy. She presses herself into the crook of his arm, nestling her head against his torso, a perfect fit, like she always belonged there. 

Nick can’t stop the wide smile that spreads across his face as he looks up at June, who leans against him too. He lifts his free arm to allow her to press in fully against his side before he wraps it around her, his fingers brushing against her hip. 

Nick doesn’t know what tomorrow holds for him. But for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t care. 

All that matters to him is that the two people in his arms right now are safe and happy and free. 

With both of them here he’s never felt so loved or wanted or complete. 

Warmth spreads through him as he leans his head against June’s, eyes closing as he pulls her in closer and wraps his other arm around Holly’s small frame. His whole world finally at peace. 

_ I love you both. So much _ . 

_ Everything I’ve been through, every scar, was worth it for this.  _

_ It was all for you. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this story!   
We will finish the brief epilogue soon bringing this story to a close. Be sure to subscribe to the “When you find me” series for that update. Thank you for reading! 🥰❤️


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